Sunstroke
by justasimplesketch
Summary: Written for Inception Kink Meme. Arthur suffers of sunstroke. Eames takes care of him. Fluff.


**Sunstroke**

_Prompt: Arthur suffers of sunstroke._

One-hundred and eight degrees and he insists on wearing a suit. Only a couple of hours into our 'research', we are discovered due to Arthur and his fashion sense. Once they discover us, we run the five miles back to the abandoned house we found to work out of. We fight the first three miles. Well, mainly I yell at him for being such a git. Arthur says little to the angry words pouring out of my mouth, uncharacteristic of him. Through my anger, I do not notice something is off. Reaching the house, I turn, expecting to see Arthur right behind me, but he is a good quarter mile behind. That's where he collapses in the middle of the street.

"Fuck." I mutter out, running back into the hot sun and sweltering heat. Reaching the fallen pointman, I know immediately what is wrong. Picking him up bridal style, I make a mad dash back to the house. Once inside, I place him on the couch and begin to start stripping him of his clothing.

"What are you doing, Eames?" He murmurs, eyes unfocused. "If you want a shag, you could've just asked."

"Leave it to you to be delirious and want sex, darling." I practically rip my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Yusuf as I keep removing Arthur's clothes. I leave him in his boxers for now, trying to save him some integrity. "Pick up the phone, you bastard."

"Eames? You know I am quite busy—"

I cut him off, "Get to the house now. I believe Arthur has heatstroke. And you're the only one of us that has any type of medical training." I hang up the phone, not giving Yusuf any option, but to come.

Arthur looks up at me, eyes still very dazed, "I don't feel well, Eames. So hot." I pick him up again and carry him to the bathroom. I run the water cool, not too cold nor too hot. I remember the sports drinks Ariadne insisted on us buying, due to the extreme heat element. Running to the kitchen area, I grab a few drinks and make my way back to the bathroom. Arthur is leaning against the bathtub, barely coherent. I swallow heavily, so nervous and worried that I will not be able to save his life. I pick up his scorching frame and place him into the water. Arthur lets out a surprised gasp and tries to fidget and get out, but after a few seconds, seems spent of energy.

"No, darling, you need to stay in. I know it is cold, but you aren't well."

"Please, let me out." His teeth begin to chatter a bit as he turns the most ridiculous puppy dog eyes on me. I shake my head sadly and crack open the bottle of the sports drink and lift the bottle to Arthur's lips. I can see his first instinct is to gulp the whole bottle down, but I control the amount going into his mouth. After a few sips, I put the bottle down. He gags a couple of times, but doesn't throw up. I grab a washcloth and start rubbing the cool water on the parts of Arthur not submerged. He tries to fight me off, but his weakened strength is no match.

"I know, love. You're feeling uncomfortable and maybe even scared. I am not sure if you ever feel scared, but I digress, you need this. If I don't get your temperature down, you'll die." I drain some of the water out and replace it. I lift the bottle of drink to his lips again and he drinks it without much trouble.

I hear footsteps coming quickly and Yusuf enters the bathroom, holding a thermometer. He hands it to me and I place it in Arthur's mouth. 103.1 Still bloody high, but probably not as bad as before.

"All we can do is continue cooling him and feeding him the drinks to rehydrate him. And if this does not work, we will have to take him to the hospital." Arthur made a noise of protest at the word, but if we had no choice, he would be going.

I continue to bathe him and feed him the sports drinks, as Yusuf continues to monitor his temperature. Eventually, a temperature of 100.2 satisfies him.

"Now, we can take him out and put him in bed. You will need to continue to give him the sports drinks to keep him hydrated. And once Ariadne and Cobb return, they can go purchase more." I nod as I lift Arthur out of the tub.

"Thank you." Arthur whispers quietly as I carry him to the bedroom we have been sharing.

Setting him down on the bed, I sit down beside him, "You don't need to thank me. You know I would do anything to save your life." He still looks ill, but as long as his temperature is down, it is one less thing to worry about.

"I have the worst headache and none of my muscles want to work." The whininess to his voice is so _un-Arthur_, but I can barely blame him. His body is recovering from a horrible ordeal.

"You should try to get some rest, darling. I'll be here, making sure you don't die." I try to keep the momentary hysterics out of my voice. He could have died or maybe he still might. The thought overwhelms me as I try to remain cool as a cucumber outwardly.

A rough laugh comes from Arthur, "You'd like that too much, being the beneficiary to my life insurance policy. I won't give you the satisfaction, Mr. Eames." He continues to mumble for a bit until he falls asleep. Arthur and I have been together for a year now and never once did he mention his life insurance policy or me as the beneficiary. My instincts tell me that he is worried as well and constructed the jokes in order to inform me of something I did not know.

My mind reels as I continue watching him, feeling comfort in the gentle rising and falling of his chest. Ariadne comes into the room eventually, putting a bag of sports drinks on the floor. She places a comforting hand on my shoulder and rubs gently.

"He's going to be okay, Eames. He's young and healthy and you acted correctly. He'll just feel off for a few days. And then, he'll be back to the pretentious and dry-humored Arthur that we all know and love." She pecks my cheek sweetly before leaving the room.

It is nearing midnight when Arthur stirs, mumbling something about being so tired. He cracks an eye open and gives me a small smile. "How're you feeling, darling?"

"Thirsty and weak." Honesty? No sarcasm? I frown at him. "Stop thinking so hard, dear. I don't have enough energy to be sarcastic. And as much as I love seeing you flush in frustration, I can't do that to you right now." His voice grows softer and softer, almost tender. He lifts a shaky hand and strokes my cheek. "Thank you again, for everything. And not for gloating about how stupid I was for wearing a suit." I grab a bottle and open it. I hand it to him.

"You really think I would say anything about you wearing a suit while I was terrified that I might lose you? Sure, I was pissed at you for not listening to me because the mission fell through earlier, but as soon as I saw you drop, I forgot about all that." He has a way of breaking away any and all barriers I might have and getting me to admit all the things in my soul. I have never been the most guarded with my emotions, but being naked emotionally in front of Arthur has always been easiest. He sets the drink aside on the bedside table and looks at me thoughtfully.

Grabbing my shirt, Arthur pulls me down to his level. He plants the sweetest kiss to my lips. I can feel the small smile that forms on his lips. I lie down beside him, drawing random circles on his chest with my fingertips. "How many days are you going to keep me bedridden?"

I ponder this. The mission cannot go forward without the research Arthur must complete, but after today, I am ready to pack him up and tell the rest of the team to find a new pointman and forger. My inbred need to protect him would, only in the long run, make both of us miserable. We need these jobs as much as we need each other. "A few days. You've been running yourself ragged since we arrived here. If you had been taking care of yourself all along, this may have never happened." The chiding tone in my voice makes me cringe. I look up at Arthur's face to see him smirking.

"So maternal, Eames. Will you be the mother to our future children? I think they could use such a motherly touch." I swat at him, glaring menacingly. He grins widely before closing his eyes. Other than his playful teasing, he does not object to the time restraints, for which I am grateful. Dealing with a stubborn Arthur is not one of my favorite pastimes. "You can stop playing guard dog, dearest. I am going to be fine. It will hardly be good for you to deprive yourself of sleep, when I am going to be the neediest of people for the next few days."

I kiss him on the forehead before getting into a comfortable position. Arthur would be fine, but it doesn't go unnoticed by me, when three days later, he wears his most uncharacteristic Arthur outfit ever: a pair of shorts and short-sleeve button up. I say nothing, but smirk behind his back as we head to do our research.

This, of course, happens all the while I fantasize ripping those clothes off tonight and having my way with him.


End file.
